


mages against literacy

by visiblemarket



Category: Constantine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotions, Feelings, M/M, Manhandling, Porn, Self Esteem Issues, did i mention this is meant to be a fluffy PWP because at one point that was the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11489895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: “Do youmind?” he says, snapping the book shut around his index finger.“Not at all,” John says, pressing still-smirking lips the side of Chas’ throat. Reaches over, tries to grab the book out of Chas' hands. “Not your usual fare, that."





	mages against literacy

**Author's Note:**

> [Asked for by cinnapurrevans literal years ago.](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/118707375146/hey-favourite-constantine-fic-writer-remember)

 “What’re you doin’ there, mate?" 

“What does it look like?” Chas says, holding back a sigh. 

John snickers. “Not inclined to trust how things _look_ , me,” he says, and Chas can practically _feel_  him sauntering closer, knows he’ll be up against the back of the chair within seconds. And, sure enough, sooner than expected, he’s tucking his chin on Chas’ shoulder, his hair brushing the side of Chas’ cheek. " _But if you tame me_ ,” he reads, accent gone mockingly crisp as he cranes over and presses his chest against Chas’ back. " _Then we shall need each other. To me_ —"

“Do you _mind_?” he says, snapping the book shut around his index finger.

“Not at all,” John says, pressing still-smirking lips the side of Chas’ throat. Reaches over, tries to grab the book out of Chas' hands. “Not your usual fare, that."

Chas pulls it further out of reach. “It’s for school,” he huffs, debating whether it’d be worth it to get up or if it’ll just lead to a massive sulk on John’s part.

“Bit late for that, innit?” 

“Geraldine read it in class, I’m just trying to…” John goes still behind him, and Chas sighs. Decides to leave it at that — knows John doesn’t care, not really, but wonders if he’ll keep pushing or retreat. John seems to be wondering himself, tucking his face up against the side of Chas’ neck as he thinks. 

“You almost done, then?” he murmurs, after a moment. Chas can feel John’s hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the base of his neck. It feels good — moderate pressure, but right where it’s needed. A quick, full bodied shiver runs through him — pleasure and anticipation, wariness and embarrassment, all wrapped into one. John has that effect on people, or maybe just on him. He lets his head fall back, just enough to catch John’s eye.

“Almost,” Chas says, and John smiles: slight, close-lipped, surprised. Drifts over, drops a quick kiss to the side of Chas’ mouth. Chas turns his head and the next one is dead center, soft and wet. One of John’s hands slides around Chas’ neck and down, slipping beneath the collar of Chas’ shirt and down his chest; John’s tongue flickers against Chas’ teeth, insistent, encouraging. Chas half-turns to meet him properly, opens his mouth and reaches out to cup the back of John’s head, to run his fingers through John’s blond hair.

John’s mouth is wet and hot and familiar, sucking at Chas’ tongue, sliding against Chas’ lips; his palm is rough against Chas’ chest, and warm, as it caresses Chas’ sternum before slipping lower.

Chas’ side twinges, and he pulls back. The book clatters to the floor. John looks at him, eyes hazy and unfocused, hair mused, lips wet.

“All right?” he says, soft, and Chas nods, but drops his gaze. Leans over to pick up the book, smoothing down the dark blue cover. John sidles up around the side of the chair and — unsurprisingly — onto Chas’ lap. 

“Really?” Chas says, rolling his eyes as John’s back presses against his chest; wraps an arm around John’s waist anyway, knowing he’s not going to push John off immediately and that he might as well steady him in the meantime. 

John clearly knows it too: he grins, dropping his head back against Chas’ shoulder. “You mind?” he says, low, murmured against Chas’ neck. 

Chas shakes his head, and opens the book again. 

Makes it through another chapter or so, bolstered by pure determination in the face of John’s mockingly sweet kisses to the side of his throat. Turns his head suddenly, catching John’s mouth with his own, busing their lips together as he closes the book. John huffs in surprise but leans in, opening his mouth, lapping impatiently at the roof of Chas’ mouth. 

He pulls back — John gives a gruff, annoyed groan and leans into him, chasing his mouth. 

“Wait,” he says. John scowls, tense and panting, but stays put. Chas puts the book down on the table, and half turns in the chair. There isn’t enough room to properly face him, for John to straddle him. But there’s more than enough to reach out, to cup John’s cheek in his hand and tip his head back and kiss him properly. 

John twists in his arms, pressing into his chest, leaning into the kiss. Keeps making panting, desperate noises into his mouth, and low, breathless whines as he runs his fingers through Chas’ hair. 

Undoing John’s tie from behind proves harder than expected — Chas tries to be careful, doesn’t want to pull too hard and choke him. Doesn’t know why he bothers; kind of suspects John would enjoy it. 

John arches against him, panting right beneath Chas’ ear. 

“Need a hand with that?” he drawls, and Chas drops his other hand to John’s groin, where John’s erection is already straining against his pants. Grinds the heel of his palm down against it. John inhales sharply and _squirms_ , leaning all of his weight against Chas’ chest, rubbing his ass against Chas’ dick. 

“No,” he says, low, breathing against John’s throat. Drags his hand away, strokes lightly over John’s thighs, his hips — anywhere but where John wants him. “Do you?"

“ _Bastard_ ,” he hisses, but turns to kiss him again all the same. It’s off-center and sloppy. John practically throws himself against Chas’s chest, bracing himself on the padded arms of the chair. Squirms again, breaking the kiss and nuzzling at Chas’ neck like a cat. 

“Are you really that hard up?” Chas says, only slightly teasing — for all he knows, John could’ve started this to see if he could, not out of any genuine interest. Chas wonders if he’d care, if he’d stop John, if it turned out to be the former. 

John hums into Chas’ neck and curls closer. “’s just what you to do me, mate. Can’t — _mm_  — can’t bloody help myself, can I?"

“Okay, okay,” Chas says, embarrassed and not entirely convinced, but he unbuckles John's belt anyway, reaches inside his pants to stroke at John's erection. Light and steady, as John’s breaths quicken against his throat. He runs his other hand down John’s chest, then up again — pulls the ends of John's shirt out from the waistline of John’s pants, sets to work on unbuttoning it. It’s slow going, and John doesn’t help — keeps his grip tight on the chair's arms as his chest heaves and his hips sway.

“Ye—yeah. Just like that—“ he pants, twisting into Chas’ chest, thrusting into Chas' palm, shuddering with the effort of reconciling both actions. 

“You’d rather I fuck you, though."

John groans a little, grinding down again. “Rather you did what you'd like with me."

Chas doubts it — John is particular, likes what he likes, knows all too well how to get it. Case in point: the desperate, shuddering arc of his body, pressing against Chas’ chest, throwing his head back over Chas’ shoulder, now that he’s sensed Chas’ hesitation.

“Please,” he murmurs, burying his face in Chas’ neck, flicking the tip of his tongue against Chas’ skin. “Please, don’t you…” he groans, cock twitching against Chas’ palm. “You do _want_ me, don’t you?"

A glimmer of sincere, self-conscious doubt behind the calculated flirtation — typical John, one of his usual moves, but it’s as much Chas’ fault as anyone’s: he lets John get away with it, he gives into him, lets himself want what John wants. Fucks him, and wants to. 

For now, he kisses John, runs his hand up and down along John’s bare chest. John grunts, and groans, and curls closer to him — his mouth is slack and his breaths are wet and shallow. Chas’ first impulse is to soothe him — runs his hands down John’s chest, rubs at this sternum. John arches against him, whining into Chas' neck; Chas drops a hand down to his cock, strokes at him again. Rough and fast, sliding his other hand around John’s neck, tipping him back further, till he’s straining into Chas’ palm and flopping his head back over Chas’ shoulder.

John whimpers, panting against his neck. “Gonna bloody come if you keep up like that."

“So bloody come, then,” Chas teases, and John, probably out of petulance more than anything, does — cock jerking in Chas’ hand, come splattering across his chest, dribbling through Chas’ fingers. 

“Bastard,” he murmurs, sagging over Chas’ chest, mouthing drowsily at his throat. “What 'm I gonna do with you, mate?” 

A part of Chas expects him to do nothing at all — John has, quite literally, gotten what he came for, leaving him no real reason to stick around. Chas runs his fingers up John’s chest anyway, turns his head to be able to kiss him. John opens his mouth to it, sucks at Chas' tongue. Turns, slowly, trembling — Chas wraps an arm around his back, wonders what exactly John’s going for. There isn’t room in the chair for John to straddle him, exactly, but there’s room enough for John to slip a knee between Chas’ thighs, to ram the other knee between Chas’ leg and the arm of the chair. It’s a tight fit, and not terribly comfortable, but John doesn’t stay there long — just long enough to kiss Chas’ lips, his throat, his collarbone, through his shirt —  a steady, familiar path down Chas’ chest.

“John…” Chas says, not sure if he really wants to stop him, or just to slow him down, to kiss him again. John chuckles, easing his way to the floor. Or trying to, anyway — Chas hears his knees hit the cold, stone floor and winces in sympathy. 

“Relax,” John says, rubbing his cheek against Chas’ thigh, reaching up to unbutton Chas’ jeans. As if that’ll help him  _relax_ or something. “Like doin’ this, yeah?"

Chas knows he says so a lot  — wonders, has always wondered, if John likes the act as much as he likes what it gets him. He’s unquestionably good at it, at least.

Doesn’t take it all in at once: licks long wet stripes along the shaft, sucks lightly at the head. Looks up at him, dark-eyed, intent — almost challenging, and Chas would laugh if it wasn’t such a fucking turn on. 

John likes having his hair pulled, his head forced down — Chas doesn’t like to do it, finds it rude at best, brutal at worst. So he compromises, running his hands through John’s hair, curls it around his fingers, gives him the occasional light tug. Anticipates a day when John tells him to either take it seriously or _not bloody bother_ , but it hasn’t come yet, so Chas keeps at it, carding his fingers through John’s hair, cupping the back of his head. John sucks, and swirls, and swallows him down. 

"John,” he pants, as his muscles twitch, as his toes curl. “John, I’m—“ John pulls off, with a loud, satisfied slurp. It’s something of a surprise: John tends to swallow, when given the chance. But he’s reaching into his pocket, pulling out a condom and packet of lube. “Oh,” Chas says, and John grins up at him. 

“All right, mate?” he says, voice cheerful and raw — Chas nods, can’t resist the urge to press his palm against John’s cheek again. John blushes, and drops his head to hide that he has. Rips open the condom, rolls it on to Chas’ cock. Leans down to give the head a quick, playful suck, then pulls back. 

“Latex,” he says, making a face, and Chas wants to laugh, but also wants to grab him by the arms and drag him up against his chest again.

“Get back up here,” Chas hears himself say, strangely low, almost a growl — John’s breath catches, and he scrambles to obey. Slips off his shirt, unlaces his boots and steps out of them. Pushes his pants and his boxers down his legs. Hops gracelessly out of puddled heap of clothing, and Chas is struck by a swift swell of affection, just from watching him, naked and flushed and still panting, cock half hard and lips slick and red. Ridiculously, beautifully human, beneath the tattoos and the arrogance and the rest of the carefully constructed facade.

“What?” John says, suspicious.

“Nothing,”Chas says, and smiles. “Just like looking at you, I guess."

“Ooh, flattery,” John crows, sauntering back to him. “Gonna make me blush, mate."

Chas reaches out, grabs his waist, and spins him around — John chuckles, dropping artlessly into Chas’ lap. Presses the lube into Chas’ hands, and leans over. 

It’s an image, to be sure — John’s legs spread wide, dangling on each side of Chas’, his bare torso stretched over Chas’ thighs. Chas can feel the weight of John’s cock against his leg — half hard, and warm.

He drizzle the lube between John’s cheeks, presses into him with one steady finger. John’s breaths bloom against Chas’ knee, and his cock twitches, leaking through Chas’ jeans. Another finger, and he rests the palm of his hand on John’s back, slides it up to the nape of John’s neck. Wraps his hand around John’s throat — John lets out a strangled cry, and presses back against him.

He presses into John again, feeling him tighten around his fingers, breaths quickening — "Good?" he asks, and John nods, fervently, between his knees. "C'mere," he says, slipping out of him, wrapping his arm around John's chest. Pulls him up, till his back is pressed against Chas's chest again. John drops his hands to the arms of the chair, bracing himself, hips hovering above Chas’ lap, head lolling on Chas' shoulder.

John nudges his temple against Chas’ chin — _go on then_ , he seems to say — and Chas gets the picture. Reaches between them, gets his cock into position. Expects John to slide onto it gradually. Should know better: John, as always, drops straight down, taking it all at once, letting out a low, satisfied groan as he does.

“Ohh,” he breathes, arching his back. “ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, panting as he moves, circling his hips in a slow, greedy grind. “ _Fuck me_ , you’re so bloody hot."

Chas feels his cheeks flush — his head’s already light, his heart’s already pounding — and he can’t quite find the words to respond. Runs his hands up along John’s chest instead, over his nipples, down again to his stomach, a few distracted strokes at his sides, as John rides him. Bounces up and down on Chas’ cock with speed and stamina that Chas would find surprising, if he were in a clear enough state of mind to think about it. There’s a desperate edge to John's movements, though — his arms and legs trembling with the effort, sweat beading across his forehead. Ragged breaths, stuttering thrusts. Chas wraps an arm across John's chest, a hand around his throat — mostly to steady him, not hard enough to bruise, and John lets out a low, pleased hum. 

“You close?” he mumbles, lips dragging against Chas’ cheek. Chas nods — he is, he has been for what feels like hours. John chuckles, quick and breathless, then stills. “Talk to me,” he murmurs. Sounds almost concerned, nuzzles against Chas again. “What d’you want? What can I — _mm_ ,” he hums, squeezing around Chas’ cock. “What can I do?"

_Nothing_ , Chas wants to say, feels his hips twitch up, a shallow, unhelpful thrust.

“Slower?” John breathes. “Faster?"

“Slow,” Chas manages, shutting his eyes. John grins into his neck, and slides almost entirely off of him — thighs trembling for a moment as he holds himself up, and then slides back in. Does it again, achingly slow. The rhythm’s good, the speed is perfect, and Chas has to bury his face against John’s shoulder to keep from saying too much.

If things were different — if John were different, if they both were— he'd kiss beneath John's ear, breathe a promise against his skin.  _I love you_ , he'd say, less because he meant it than because John needed it. Because they both did.

( _Not your bloody_ boyfriend, _Francis,_ John had snapped once, years ago, snarling like a wounded animal in a trap. Twisted from Chas's arms, thrown on what clothes he could reach, and left. Chas knows better now: he's long known the value of keeping his mouth shut, and rarely forgets it anymore.) 

"You're so tight," he says instead; it's true, he is, and furnace hot— velvet softness constricting around him. "You feel so...so damn good." 

John groans, and squeezes around him. “ _Ah, fuck_ ,” he groans, coming again, spasming around Chas’ cock. Rides it out, thrusting in arrhythmic, shallow jolts. Chas grabs his hips, forces him down — pushes into him, once, hard enough and deep enough that John lets out a sharp, almost pained gasp. 

He drags John against him as he comes, pulsing endlessly into the condom, sucking desperately at the curve of John’s neck. John lets him, encourages him: throws back his head, reaches up to run his hand through Chas’ hair. 

And so they stay, John sprawled onto of him, Chas curled around him. Warm and sticky and hazily pleasant — too much sensation pumping through their veins, too many endorphins to feel anything but good. 

Reality bleeds into the moment, slow but steady — twinging limbs, cooling sweat.  John feels strangely small in his arms, more brittle than delicate, and Chas feels compelled to pull him closer. John lets out a soft, neutral sigh, and ends up jabbing Chas in the ribs as he tries to resettle himself.

They both wince. 

“Sorry,” they both say — John with an insincere grin, Chas with genuine, creeping embarrassment — and John laughs. 

“s’all right,” he slurs, leaning back. Kisses his Chas' throat, nuzzles against the underside of Chas’ jaw. Chas has to smile, especially as John turns in his arms, sitting across Chas’s lap instead of astride it. His cock slips from John’s ass in the process and John winces.

“Hm,” John hums, a short, already pre-occupied sound, and grabs at Chas’ chin. Holds him still just long enough to kiss his cheek, and then pulls himself up, off Chas’ lap.  

Chas watches him slip on his crumpled boxers and trousers. Watches him zip up his fly and leave the belt ends dangling; step into his boots, not bother to lace them; slide on his shirt, leave the buttons undone. He looks up at Chas again, brow furrowed, tone wary: “All right then, mate?”

Chas shakes is head to clear it. “Yeah,” he says, and drops his gaze. Cringes. His dick’s still out, limp against his leg. “Fine,” he says, peeling off the condom, tying it off. Tucks himself back in, and takes a breath. John’s still there — Chas can sense him, knows the shape of him, feels him looking.

He gets up, keeping his gaze on the floor — heads to the kitchen, more for want of something to do than anything else. Tossing the condom’s enough of a reason, then washing his hands, then getting a beer from the fridge. He needs it, and more importantly, he needs to give John the chance to retreat to his room without the usual awkward exchange of excuses. 

Apparently Chas doesn’t give him enough time, because when he returns from the kitchen, its to John, sprawled on the leather chair, with the slim blue volume open in his hand. “ _To me_ ,” he reads, apparently having heard Chas approaching. “ _You will be unique in all the world. To you,_ ” he glances over his shoulder, and winks. " _I shall be unique in all the world_ …"

Chas sighs, pushing down the spark of temper as he walks over — he’s played enough of John’s games for one night, is close to running out of patience. John looks up at him, smirking only slightly. He’s buttoned his shirt again. It's his one attempt at respectability. His tie, on the other hand, is long gone, and his hair’s a mess, and the beginnings of a bruise of unmistakable provenance is blossoming against the side of his neck. His lips are still obscenely swollen, a deeper pink than usual, and his eyes are sparkling, like he’s thoroughly proud of how debauched he looks. Chances are, he is.

Chas rolls his eyes, and holds out his hand. Instead of proffering the book, John reaches out: grabs Chas’ hand in his, uses it to leverage himself out of the chair. They’re inches apart again — John is looking up at him with bright eyes, red lips twitching, and Chas is torn, tempted to close the distance between them, knowing better than to try it. 

John keeps him from having to make the choice — takes a step back, gesturing dramatically at the chair again. _Go ahead_ , he says, with the dip of his head and a mockingly extravagant wave. Chas almost considers refusing; he’s tired, it’s late, he’d be better off in bed and away from John, who seems determined to be difficult tonight.

Chas sits down instead, grabbing the book from John’s unresisting fingers as he goes. John follows, shoulders slouching, head ducked to hide a grin, and perches casually on the arm of the chair. His right leg brushes against Chas’ left knee, and stays there, light but persistent pressure. He takes out a cigarette, lights it in that typical, second natured way of his.

“Really?” Chas finds himself saying, as if he were actually surprised. 

John shrugs. Exhales a long, steady stream of smoke, and nudges his leg against Chas' knee. “You mind?” 

Chas chuckles, and reaches over. Presses his palm to the small of John’s back — John leans into the pressure, taking another drag from his cigarette as he does.

“No,” Chas finds himself saying; drops his gaze, and opens his book. “No, I don't mind."

 

 

 

* 

**Author's Note:**

> (In my head Zed wandered out of her room like halfway through this fic while John & Chas were _in flagrante delicto_ , caught a glimpse of what was going on, and just noped right back out of there, vowing eternal revenge. Come on, you guys; she could never sit on that chair again, even if she _didn't_ get psychic reads off objects).
> 
> Also apologies to the estate of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry obviously, but also, read [this chapter](http://www.angelfire.com/hi/littleprince/framechapter21.html) of The Little Prince and tell me you don't feel #emotions.
> 
> Title from [here](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/162961430721/telesilla-awesome-picz-cats-that-need-your).
> 
> Also yeah hit me up on the [tumblr.com](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com), where apparently you can ask me for fic that I'll then write two years later & post without warning.


End file.
